Duskfire Glacier [m] may stars align

tzila is immediately forward; not interested, it would seem, in having him give chase as she instead draws nearer and nearer; so close she is nearly pressed up against him. the brush of her muzzle against his jaw strikes him with an intimacy that wintersbane hasn't felt — hasn't allowed himself to feel — in too long. not since andraste. perhaps unfairly, he thinks of her then: of their future cut short of the family they could've had. she was two years gone from the world now and with her — as with relmyna — he felt sure in his conviction.

yet, he'd broken it once when he'd taken andraste as his wife; still and forever bearing the marks of their union upon his flesh.

confused by his own train of thoughts, he desires to let go of them: to act without thought. giving himself over to instinct was always easiest; relieving almost. and yet, he does not. not yet. not as she speaks shlyly, of missing him; that he's been haunting her thoughts. he could easily chock it up to her being in heat ...but she hadn't been heat during that conversation.

missing me how? he inquires in a rasping rumble; not quite sure what she means or what to make of it. he hadn't left the territory — and he was easily accessible to the glacier wolves should they need his council.